


Feel It In Your Bones

by witchnsfw



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anatomy, Angst, Body Worship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchnsfw/pseuds/witchnsfw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At some point, his bad puns and the hard edges of his bones start to make you feel like you're already home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> reader has a vagina, but no gendered pronouns are used
> 
> baby's first smutfic, crossposting from my tumblr  
> i dont know how many chapters this will be but there's gonna be bone touching in every one

You don’t remember how you got here.

Or, to be more precise, you DO remember, but it’s so fuzzy and there are so many gaps that a lot of your memory is useless. There were two skeletons and they kept giving you puzzles to solve, but all the puzzles were frankly just  _awful_ , and somehow you ended up fighting the taller one because he needed to capture you for some reason. You remember winning the fight somehow, but you were so exhausted by the end that you passed out shortly after. You woke up later on what you assumed was their couch, with the tall skeleton proclaiming that you’re friends now and you can stay as long as you want. You don’t know where the short skeleton brother went.

You’re still on their couch now, watching some shitty game show with a plate of barely-touched spaghetti on your lap. Papyrus, the tall one, gave it to you and told you to make yourself at home before heading out to recalibrate his traps, “SINCE YOU BESTED THEM ALL SO EASILY!” It’s getting pretty late, and maybe you should get going and continue your journey, but… you don’t really want to anymore. It’s strange, but even with all the traps and puzzles, the skeleton brothers have shown you a strange kind of hospitality and you’ve found yourself growing fond of them. You do still want to get back to the surface sometime but maybe it’d be okay to stay here in Snowdin for a while. You wonder if the brothers wouldn’t mind you staying overnight, or if that’s asking too much and you should just get a room at the inn.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re also staying because you want to know more about the short skeleton, Sans. Papyrus is easy enough to figure out. He wears his heart on his sleeve and screams pretty much everything he’s thinking. Even when he tells little lies – not wanting to use his most formidable trap to capture you because it’d “be too easy,” for example – it’s obvious why he’s fibbing and how he’s really feeling. But Sans has been hard to read from the start and the more you talk to him, the more you feel like he’s hiding something. There’s also the matter of how he seems to sometimes blink in and out of existence, popping up where you least expect him. He smiles all the time but occasionally, especially when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, he doesn’t really look happy.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t notice the front door opening and closing. Or maybe it never opened or closed at all. Either way, you suddenly hear Sans’ voice next to you and nearly jump out of your skin and become a skeleton yourself.

“Hey. Not hungry?” He glances down at the full plate in your lap.

You look down at your lap, too. You tried to eat the spaghetti, really made an honest effort, but… “No, it’s just, um… well…”

He laughs. It’s a low chuckle, throaty even though he doesn’t have a throat. “Don’t worry, I get it. I know it’s terrible. Come on, let’s dump it somewhere so Papyrus won’t see it and get you something to eat at Grillby’s instead.”

You don’t need any further encouragement, so you shrug on your jacket and let Sans lead the way.

* * *

Dinner with Sans is surprisingly nice. You expected it to be awkward, but he makes a few terrible puns right off the bat and you laugh and he flashes a grin at you. Well, he’s always grinning, but the smile he wears when you laugh at his jokes seems different somehow. More real. The two of you don’t talk that much during dinner. You chat a little about Papyrus, Sans mentions offhandedly that he’s glad Papyrus has found a friend in you, and you ask a few questions about Snowdin. Aside from that you’re both silent, but the chatter of the other patrons makes it so that it isn’t uncomfortable. You start rummaging in your pockets for your coins when the bill comes, but Sans shakes his head at you and says, “I’ve got it covered.” You feel bad since you’ve already imposed on the skeleton brothers so much, but he insists on it.

The walk back to the brothers’ house is pretty quiet too. It’s as chilly as ever but you don’t really mind too much now that you feel warm from the good food. Sans makes a few more bad jokes and you laugh some more. You realize that at first you were faking chuckles to be polite, but now you’re laughing for real, occasionally clutching your stomach and wiping away tears.

He doesn’t laugh with you, but you’ve noticed that he always looks over at you after the joke is told to see your reaction. He looks really happy. You notice that you’re really happy, too.

It’s comfortable being with Sans like this, in a different way than how being around Papyrus is comfortable. Papyrus is a bundle of energy and he makes you want to be energetic, too. He chatters constantly and if it were anyone else it would be awkward, but with Papyrus it’s endearing. He’s got a big ego but he makes it clear that he thinks you’re just as cool, and it makes you feel warm.

Sans, on the other hand, is oddly relaxing. Everything feels slower, more still, when you’re just around him. He does what he wants without asking for permission but he never does anything that would be truly inconvenient for other people. He says what he needs to say when he needs to say it and doesn’t fill the silence with chatter like Papyrus does, but it’s not awkward with him, either. You know if he didn’t want to be here with you, he’d just leave. But he hasn’t left and that makes you feel just as warm as Papyrus’ compliments.

It’s easy to be around the skeleton brothers. It’s easy to like them. You don’t want to keep moving and leave them behind.

So when Sans asks if you’re staying the night, you say yes, and you stop worrying about whether or not you’re imposing too much. And when he asks if you want to stay up and watch TV with him or if you’re ready to crash on the couch, you don’t think twice before you grab the remote and ask him if he knows if anything good is on.

* * *

Your knees are touching.

The both of you are lazily spread out on the couch. You can feel outer epicondyle of his femur touching your skin. It’s cool and smooth, not yet warmed up by your body heat, so it must have only started touching you a few moments ago. You don’t remember when it got there but you’ve only just noticed it.

It is so, so benign and you’re sure it means nothing, but you feel heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks anyway. You briefly wonder what it’d be like to have more of his bones touching you before feeling deeply ashamed of yourself.

He’s a skeleton. He’s literally a skeleton and it’s not like you have ever been aroused by diagrams of skeletons or the fake cast of a skeleton propped in the corner of your high school science classroom, but it’s different when it’s a  _live_  skeleton, one who walks and talks and tells you shitty jokes and makes you feel like you’re home in a place you’ve never been before. So here you are, suddenly thinking about what it’d be like with Sans’ bony fingers inside you.

This is terrible. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen. You’ve become so comfortable with Sans that you’ve pushed yourself right back into uncomfortable. You don’t even know if he would EVER be interested in you like that. He’s a skeleton! Can skeletons be into humans? You guess you never thought about whether humans could be into skeletons, either, but that’s happening to you right now, so maybe…

“Are you, uh. Doing okay over there?”

You whip your head around to look at Sans so fast that you can hear your neck pop. “I’m fine!!” you say, your voice noticeably higher pitched and strained.

“Really? Because your face is pretty red. Is Papyrus’ spaghetti not sitting right with you?” Sans’ grin is getting bigger. He’s loving this, loving watching you squirm. You narrow your eyes at him. Somehow, he knows exactly what’s going on, he knows it’s not the spaghetti making your stomach churn, and he’s teasing you about it. Jerk.

“I’m really fine,” you answer, trying very hard to keep your voice low and even. You look away and back at the TV.

“If you’ve got something on your mind, it’s better if you just say it,” he says, looking at you pointedly. His elbow is on the couch’s arm, his cheekbone resting in the palm of his hand, and his head is slightly tilted.

You don’t respond and it would probably be dead quiet if not for the TV still playing some cooking show. Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s stopped looking at you, but you still feel a tremendous pressure weighing you down. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better to just get it out there so you know exactly where you stand and you can stop wondering about it.

“Would you ever be into me?” you blurt out. Oh, now you’ve done it. You’ve really gone and boned up this time.

He looks off to the side. “Well, you’ve already got one skeleton in you –“

“Not  _like that_ ,” you cut him off, exasperated, but he interrupts you before you can start explaining.

“- are you sure you really want another one?” His grin looks a little predatory and it hits you that he’s telling a dirty joke.

Your jaw drops open. There’s a clock somewhere in the house, and the TV has gone strangely quiet, so you can hear it ticking down the seconds.

“Inside you, that is,” he continues.

You don’t say anything, just stare. It’s silent for what feels like forever.

“I’m asking if you want to fuck –“

“Seriously?” you cut him off a second time. “Like, for real, or is this just a set up for another pun?” You really, really hope this isn’t a joke. You don’t think he’d be that cruel but you also didn’t think you’d get a positive response.

If he had eyebrows, they’d be knitted together. “I thought I was being pretty obvious. You think I’d take you out and pay for our date as a joke? Maybe it’s egotistical of me to say, but I’d think of something more humerus than that.”

You snort in spite of yourself at the pun and slap your palm to your forehead. It was a date. This  _IS_  a date. You cannot believe you missed that somehow, that you thought he was just being nice for no reason…

You feel a cold, bony hand on your thigh. You stop laughing and glance at him. He’s still grinning, because of course he is, but he looks as nervous about this as you. You’re both very still. He’s waiting for some sign of approval from you before he does anything else.

Fuck it, you think, and you lean in to press a chaste kiss to the bone between his eye sockets. You bring your other leg, the one he’s not touching, up and over his lap so that you’re straddling him with your hands resting on the couch on either side of his head. You hover there but don’t sit down on top of him, worried that your weight might crack his bones.

He seems to get what you’re concerned about and he rests his hands on your hips, pressing them downwards. “I’m not gonna break,” he reassures you, “I’m at least built sturdier than that.”

His hands are still cold as one slides your shirt up and the other slides your pants down, not far but just enough that he can touch some of your skin directly. His eyes are narrowed, lidded, even though he has no lids. Maybe it’s just the lighting, but his cheekbones look a little flushed. He seems really fascinated by your body, repeatedly sliding the carpals and metacarpals of his palms up and over your sides and across your stomach, lightly scratching the ends of his fingers back down, and then grabbing the flesh slightly. It feels nice, and you nuzzle the underside of his cheek and jaw and press kisses there.

“It’s been a long time since anyone down here has seen a human,” he murmurs in your ear, and you can feel his bony fingers digging into your hips. You glance down for a second, see his phalanges, still now, but softly denting your flesh, and look up again to see him leering at you. Your eyes meet his sockets, empty except for the pinpricks of light, and you suppress a shiver. “And it’s been even longer since any monster’s touched a human like this. I can’t say I really know what to do, so you’re gonna have to help me out here.”

“Um,” you start, and then stop short because your mind feels fuzzy and blank. It feels like time is moving at half normal speed, if not even slower. Is he asking how he’s supposed to fuck you?

The lights in his socket glance away, evidently unnerved by your silence, and you notice there’s a few beads of sweat forming on his skull. “Or, you know, if you’re not interested in this, then I’ll stop. Pretend this never happened.” You can feel him removing his hands from your hips.

“NO!” you shout, loudly and suddenly enough that Sans is visibly startled. You grab his hands and place them back onto your body. They’re still cold, but warmer now from leeching off your body’s heat. “No, I want to do this with you.”

He looks back at you, silent, grinning, hungry, for several moments before he says, “show me what to do.”

You take a deep breath as you shimmy your pants down a little more and move one of his hands underneath your underwear. Your palm is resting on the back of his hand, your index and middle finger resting on the top of his so that you can guide them better. You keep pushing until you can feel your wetness seeping around his fingers and onto yours, then pull your hand out and suck off your fingers.

Sans watches you, his skull sweating pretty hard now. He’s making noises like he’s trying to speak but can’t get the words out. His hand is limp in your underwear as though he’s forgotten what’s going on.

You buck against his hand a little. Not hard, because you’re actually a little worried that he’s blown a fuse somehow.

Suddenly he seems to find himself again and his other hand is gripping your waist while the one in your underwear feels around. It’s a little clumsy, which is understandable because he seems a little unsure of where to touch. He feels around your outer lips first, then moves inward. When he finds your opening he pushes a finger in gently. You groan softly in response and take his other hand and move it to your chest, sliding it up under your shirt. He feels your chest just as excitedly as he felt your hips and stomach before, probing and kneading it until he finds your nipple and pinches it lightly. He rolls it between his thumb and index finger, grinning wider as he feels it harden under his touch. You roll your hips against the hand down your pants, breathing heavily, and hastily press more kisses to his jaw and clavicle.

Sans chuckles lowly, resting his mouth against your neck and you can feel the teeth move slightly against your skin as he speaks. “Enjoying your trip to the bone zone?”

You laugh loudly, the both of you nearly completely ruining the mood, before he slips two more fingers inside you and you stop a laugh short with a moan. He thrusts his fingers in you for a while, still cupping your chest with his free hand and pressing his forehead against the crook of your neck. He stops the thrusting for a moment to probe gently around inside you. “God, are you actually getting even wetter?”

You huff out a laugh and say, “P-probably,” and grind yourself against his hand to encourage him to start moving again. You’re feeling pretty brave now, so the next time you kiss his clavicle, you dart your tongue out and run it against the length of the bone. Sans tenses, arching his back so abruptly that the bone you’re licking nearly rams into your nose, and you can hear him choking back noises.

You do it again, first pressing his shoulder into the couch and holding it there so he doesn’t break your nose, and this time you suck lightly on the prominence of the bone near his sternum. He stops trying to keep in his noises and groans openly this time, which is exactly what you were hoping for. You hum appreciatively in response.

Sans is thrusting his fingers in you frantically now, and his other hand has slid around to your back where he’s digging his fingers into your skin. His mouth is hanging open slightly, teeth still pressing against your neck. You finger his sternum lightly, brush your fingers over his ribs, and moan.

“Are you close?” he asks lowly, “Are you gonna cum? Tell me how to make you cum.”

You nod in response to his first question but you don’t think you have the words in you right now to give him precise directions, so instead you shove your hand back down your underwear and angle his thumb so that it brushes over your clit and choke out, “Touch me here.” And he does.

His fingers are slamming deep inside you and his thumb rubs your clit with just the right amount of pressure and his hand has come back around to your chest where he’s pinching your nipple. His head has fallen back against the couch so that he can see you, and he says, “Fuck, you look so nice like this.”

You cum, hard, clenching around his fingers, and you’re sure that you’re making noises but you’re far too out of it to hear what kind they are. As you’re coming down from the high, your head falls forward to rest on Sans’ shoulder and you dimly become aware that he’s still talking.

“– nice, that was nice, you feel so good –“

He’s praising you. You’re not really sure what for since he did most of the work (surprising, considering he’s so lazy) and you’re pretty sure you got more stimulation out of that than he did, but it feels really nice to be praised like this so you just close your eyes and let him continue.

“- the noises you make are so hot, your body feels so good in my hands –“

You fall asleep at some point. You wake up briefly to the sound of Papyrus coming home and you’re lying on the couch with your clothes back in place – kind of, the top button on your pants isn’t done up – and there’s a blanket wrapped around you. Sans is gone. You wonder if that means something, if maybe you shouldn’t have been fooling around with him or if you should’ve finished him off, too, before rudely falling asleep. But it’s still nighttime, you’re still tired, and it doesn’t seem like Papyrus has noticed he woke you up, so you go back to sleep and resolve to worry about it tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

When you open your eyes again, the lights are back on in the house and there’s banging sounds coming from the kitchen, so you assume it must be morning. You feel groggy, but not as groggy as you thought you would be. You roll off the couch and shuffle to the kitchen to see what all the ruckus is about.

Papyrus is there, banging things around and stirring something in a pot on the stove with much more vigor than necessary. You glance around, expecting to see Sans leaning against a wall somewhere, but there’s only you and Papyrus. “Um,” you say, and Papyrus whirls around, looking practically overjoyed.

“HUMAN!!! How good of you to spend the night! I’ve made more spaghetti for you for breakfast! Please, sit down!”

Please, no. You can’t eat any more of his awful spaghetti but you don’t want to hurt his feelings, so you grit your teeth and force a smile onto your face. “Sounds… great!” you say through clenched teeth.

You hear someone say, “Hey bro,” and suddenly Sans is there, standing in a corner you definitely checked earlier.

You hastily shoot him a look that you hope says, “please get me out of this,” but it probably only looks like you have to take a shit really bad.

Sans seems to take the hint anyway when he glances over at you. “You know, those married guard dogs were rolling around in the snow near your puzzles again. I think they messed some of them up.”

“WHAT!!” Papyrus exclaims, alarmed. “NO! WHAT WILL I DO IF ANOTHER HUMAN PASSES THROUGH! THERE’S NO WAY UNDYNE WILL LET ME GET AWAY WITH NOT TRAPPING TWO HUMANS IN A ROW!” And he takes off running, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

Sans takes a peek into the pot of spaghetti and turns off the stove, then looks back at you. “There might be something edible in the fridge,” he says, tilting his head towards it. “You can eat whatever you find before you leave.”

Before you leave? Right, you’re supposed to leave. You’re supposed to get out of the underground and go home.

You think about last night. You think about how you don’t want to leave. You think about telling Sans this, and telling him that you’d much rather stay here, with him and his brother, and do more of what you did last night. You think about saying that the two of you should at least talk about what happened.

But you don’t say any of that, and instead you just say, “Thanks,” and start rummaging through the refrigerator. When you turn around again, with what looks like leftover food from Grillby’s in your arms, he’s already gone.

* * *

You spend most of that morning wandering around Snowdin and introducing yourself to people. It’s always cold here, but the buildings are warm and the people are nice. You like it.

You tell yourself that you’re only staying to read up on some stuff in the library, and that’s what you do for several hours. But by the time you leave the building, it looks like it’s well into the afternoon. Oh no! you think to yourself. You can’t possibly continue your journey now! It’s much too late! You haven’t even eaten since this morning. You make excuses even though you know, in the back of your mind, that the truth is you don’t want to go home anymore. You want to stay here with Sans and Papyrus.

You don’t want to admit that you made all that fuss trying to get out of the ruins just so you could stay here, in a sleepy, snowy little town with two skeletons.

You’ve done enough thinking today, so instead of thinking about it, you go to Grillby’s.

It’s just as busy as the night before, and you settle into the booth near the broken jukebox before ordering. Even though you did practically nothing today, you feel exhausted, so you close your eyes and rest your chin in your hands with your elbows propped on the table as you wait for your food.

“You’re still here.” That’s much too close by for it to be the other patrons. Someone’s talking to you.

You open your eyes and look at Sans, who is standing next to your table. “I’m still here,” you say.

“You’ve never stayed this long before,” he says, quietly, and when you look confused, he clarifies, “You humans, I mean. Humans never stay this long.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just shrug your shoulders, smile, and gesture for him to sit down. He stares at you unwavering for a moment before he slides into the booth across from you.

Dinner with Sans goes pretty much the same as it did last time, but now it feels like there’s something unsaid crawling at your back. You know you should bring up what happened last night, figure out where you stand with Sans, especially if you’re staying here for a while (possibly for good), but you don’t know how to bring it up. “Hey Sans, so we fucked last night, what are we?” You can’t say that. It sounds ridiculous. Besides, for all you know, it meant nothing to him.

You try to ignore the squeezing feeling around your heart.

He’s cracking jokes again, and you’re laughing, but you can tell your laugh sounds strange because his smile doesn’t look as bright as last night. Your food sits mostly untouched on the table as you pick at it.

The two of you are quiet for a long moment before he speaks up. “You’re not eating, so what’s eating you?”

“Well, hopefully soon you’ll be eating me out.” It’s out of your mouth before you even realize it. Your face is red and you try to play it cool by taking a sip of your drink, but you choke on it and definitely look like a loser instead.

He graciously doesn’t laugh at you, but that grin you recognize from last night is back. Hungry, predatory. “Might be pretty hard for me without a tongue. Maybe we should focus on using your tongue on me instead.”

This is so cheesy. This is the worst, and it shouldn’t be working on you at all. But you’re feeling very, very warm and all you want to do is go back to Sans’ place and suck on his bones until he only makes sounds, no words.

The check comes. Sans pays again. You tell him not to but he says it doesn’t matter and you relent.

You walk back to the house together. Sans makes a joke about boning and you don’t even catch the set-up but this situation alone, going back to a skeleton’s house to “bone” him a second time even though you barely know him, is hilarious enough to have you nearly doubled over.

You barely get through the door before Sans has you against the wall, sliding his hands up your shirt and raking his fingers down your sides. You kiss him, starting at the top of his skull and trailing kisses down between his eyes, over the spot his nose would be and then around to his cheek. When you place your hands on his shoulders you notice he’s shaking.

Then he’s guiding you up the stairs, saying, “Papyrus is gonna be home soon,” and unlocking his door. He walks in, stops when you follow, and turns around sheepishly as you look at the mess. He shoves the ruined blankets from the mattress onto the floor. “Sorry, I wasn’t expect company.”

You shrug. Maybe some other time you might care, but right now you’re too far gone. You close the door, then push him onto the mattress and start to straddle him, but he’s not having it this time. He flips you over so that you’re underneath him.

And then he just… stops. He’s just looking at you, like he’s trying to figure out how you got there underneath him. You move to start kissing him again, but he gently presses your shoulders back down and says, “Hold it a sec.”

He starts removing your clothes, pulling your shirt up and over your head. He’s going achingly slow, like he’s unwrapping something precious, even though you’re not wearing anything special today. Maybe it’s because last time the most he saw of you without clothing was a bit of your hips and stomach. He’d touched you everywhere, but hadn’t  _seen_  you.

Once your shirt is off, he slowly – why is he doing  _everything_  so slowly? – runs his fingers over your stomach, your sternum, and across your clavicle. Sans traces the shape there, where he can feel the bone under your skin, before moving onto your neck. His touch lightens considerably as he trails up your neck and somehow that makes it feel more intense. You gasp and his grin widens. From there he starts feeling the shape of your jaw, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. His eyes are half closed as he presses two fingers between your lips. You open your mouth and suck on them lightly.

With his fingers still inside, he presses down gently on your tongue, prompting you to open your mouth. He stares inside there, a bony finger resting on either side of your tongue, like it’s the wildest thing he’s ever seen.

Eventually he takes his fingers back out and places the palm of his hand against your neck. You can feel the sharp, hard ends of his fingers curling around the back of it near your hairline. You can feel the bumpy, round carpals near his wrist resting over your pulse. Every time your heart thuds you can feel the bones more clearly and you wonder if he can feel your heartbeat, too.

His eyes look like they’re practically closed, but you can tell he’s still looking at you. You remove his hand from your neck and start to press kisses against every individual bone. You count them in your head. There’s 27 of them.

Once you’re satisfied, Sans pulls his hand away and slides it down your stomach and to your pants, where he starts to undo the button and zipper. He pulls them down and you don’t feel them get caught on your shoes, so you must have removed those at some point, too.

You’re only in your underwear now, but Sans is still fully clothed, and that doesn’t really seem fair to you. You push his jacket off his shoulders until he takes the hint and shrugs it the rest of the way off himself. You pull his shirt up too, and for some reason he hesitates and seems nervous, but still removes it.

You look at him. He sure does look like a skeleton. Somehow that makes you more excited.

You reach up and slide your fingers in the spaces between his ribs and touch them gently. His arms are on either side of your head and you can feel them shaking, trying not to buckle, as you finger the end of the bottom rib and slide your other hand into the cavity of his rib cage. His eye sockets shut entirely.

You touch the inside of his sternum, trace the shape of it, and his laugh sounds breathless. You take your hand back out, letting your fingertips bump against his ribs along the way.

You skim the curve of his hip bone, which is barely peeking out from his shorts. He hisses through his teeth, “Please tell me you’re not gonna leave me bone dry again.”

Your shoulders shake with laughter you’re trying to keep in. “I’m really sorry,” you say, although the mirth in your voice makes it sound like you’re not sorry at all, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

He buries his face in your neck. “You have no idea.” He’s speaking so softly that you wouldn’t hear him if he weren’t so close to your ear. “You have  _no_  idea, how long – how badly I –“

He cuts off, and his hands slide underneath you and to your ass. He lifts you up and your legs naturally wrap around his pelvis, your lower half resting on his legs as he kneels on the bed. He raises his head to look at you and his eyes are open but the light you’re used to seeing there is gone. You breathe in sharply, surprised.

“I want you,” Sans says.

“I want this,” he says, emphasizing his statement with a squeeze of your ass.

“And this.” He rakes his fingers down your thighs.

“And this.” He slides his hands across your stomach.

“And this.” His hand slides up your neck.

“These.” His fingertips brush your cheek and lips.

“ _This_.” He pulls your underwear off and slides two fingers between your folds, holding them still over your entrance.

“I want to have all of you,” he says, and he rests his forehead against yours and tangles the bones of his other hand in your hair.

You’re breathing heavily. He hasn’t even done anything yet, not really. You tell him, “You have me.”

He slips his fingers in you and you arch into him. “You feel so alive,” he says, his voice soft again.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had Sans’ fingers inside you, but it’s different this time. He’s going much, much slower, and you can feel every bump and ridge. They aren’t like human fingers, they aren’t smoothed out with flesh. You feel the hard edge of his knuckles every time his digits press all the way in, and he twists them slowly, grinds the carpals of his palm against your clit before pulling back out.

His other hand is running through your hair. He’s being absurdly gentle, but everything feels so hazy and you’re already so close to cumming. He slides his forehead against your skin, brushing against your cheek and your neck before stopping and pressing it against your chest.

“You’re so soft.” His voice is low, almost scratchy, and you wonder if he’s holding himself back. “You have such a nice body.”

You reach up to grab at his ribcage again, your fingers hooking around the individual bones. You feel like you’re going to fall off the earth if you don’t hold onto something. “Please,” you plead, “show me how to make you feel good, too.”

He stills, and there’s sweat beading on his forehead. “U-uh,” he stammers, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually want him to have a good time. “T-that’s – you – okay.” One of his eyes lights up blue and you feel something swell against your pussy. You look down to see a smooth blue cock jutting out from Sans’ shorts and resting between your legs. It’s a pretty average length but the girth is something else and you’re a little concerned if it’ll actually fit comfortably inside you.

Experimentally, you spread your legs further and roll your hips upward, and his dick slides between your folds, barely grazing the wetness there.

He moans and the blue light in his eye is trained on your face. He’s clutching your hips, not roughly, but firmly. “Look,” he says, “I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep that up. Just looking at you is enough to make my bones shake, you know?”

“Then hurry up and fuck me.” You punctuate your words with another roll of your hips.

“Shit,” he groans, and he angles himself so that the tip of his dick is pressing against your hole, then stops. “You’re so hot I’m surprised all the snow outside doesn’t melt.”

You snort and wriggle underneath him. “Sans.”

He grins cheekily, still not moving. “Are you from Hotland?”

“Sans, seriously.” You try to give him a scolding look but it’s hard when you’re grinning, too.

“Because you’re burning me up.”

“Oh my GOD,” you shout, exasperated even though you’re laughing, “Will you PLEASE put your cock in me already?”

He stops joking and pushes inside you. It feels strange – definitely not human. The magic, or whatever it’s made of, is slightly cold inside you and more like glass than flesh. You could probably take him faster, but he’s going extra slow. You’re not sure if he’s teasing you or just worried about your comfort. Maybe both.

Either way you can feel yourself stretch to accommodate his size. You whimper when for a second it slides in too fast, too slick from your fluids and the angle is all wrong, but Sans pulls out, and when he presses back in it feels good again.

“Fuck, you –“ he’s trying to say something again, but you stop him.

“Yeah, fuck me,” you joke, and he laughs.

“You’re t-tight,” he grunts, teeth gritted, and he finally starts thrusting with a rhythm, and when you look at his face he’s staring right down between your legs, watching himself push into you and grinning wildly. “That’s it… you feel so good.”

He moves his hands over your body slowly, even though he’s thrusting fast now, tracing up your sides and around your shoulders almost reverently. He reaches down to rub at your clit, his other hand a fist on the mattress to hold himself up so he can fuck you even harder. You feel yourself clench around him and he lets out a low moan in response.

“Are you..?” he starts to ask, but doesn’t finish.

“Yeah,” you answer, breathlessly.

“Ah,” he says, like he’s made a sudden revelation, and he rubs your clit just a little faster as he slams into you, and you’re seeing stars behind your closed eyes.

You arch your back, grip his ribs, and grind against his pelvis as you cum, and he massages your hips and thighs with his fingers encouragingly. He thrusts inside you a little while longer, muttering more praise. He tells you that you’re beautiful, that your body is perfect, and that you make him feel so good, while you bask in your own afterglow. He comes to a halt and you open your eyes just in time to see all the tension flood out of his face as he shivers. It feels like something is bursting inside of you, but then it’s gone as quickly as it started and you’re suddenly completely empty.

Sans flops down on the mattress beside you as though his bones were made of rubber. His eye sockets are closed and his body is heaving like he’s out of breath. You reach out and touch his skull, follow the curve down to his cheek, then the shape of his jaw. His hand is on your waist and he keeps running his thumb over your skin.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” you admit, finally. “I want to stay here.”

He opens his eyes and you can tell by the way he looks at you that he doesn’t believe you. The familiar white pinpricks of light are back. “Then don’t,” he says.

You say, “Okay,” and curl into him, your nose brushing up against the vertebrae in his neck. Sans moves the hand on your waist to your back, feels up your spine before wrapping both bony arms around you. You fall asleep after running your fingers up and down the prominence of his shoulder blade at least a hundred times.


	3. Chapter 3

Sans is gone again.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but you don’t think it’s been long. As you rub the sleep out of your eyes, you realize that your body is slightly sticky, either from cooled sweat from your activities with Sans or from his gross mattress.

You really want to take a shower, but you’re not sure if you should use the skeleton’s bathroom without asking. You used it that morning after Sans and Papyrus had both left, but it still feels strange just taking and using what’s not yours, especially when you’re not even sure if you’re welcome here for another night. You pick up your clothes from the floor, put them back on as best you can while still half asleep, and stumble out of Sans’ room to find one of the brothers and ask for permission.

It’s dark in the house and there’s no light coming from under Papyrus’ door, so he’s either not home or he’s sleeping, in which case you’d rather not bother him. Maybe Sans is still in the house somewhere. You feel your way over to the stairs and clutch the railing, but stop short when you see a figure on the couch, barely illuminated by streetlights outside the window.

Sans is sprawled out with his head in his hands and wearing only his shorts. He’s not moving, but doesn’t seem like he’s asleep. You stand there, hand on the railing and one foot on the second step from the top, and wonder why it looks like he’s in pain.

Your stomach drops when you realize it’s because he’s not grinning.

His mouth is still wide and you can see all his teeth, but it’s definitely a grimace and not a grin. You’ve seen him look unsure, shocked, and even sad, but you’ve never seen him without a smile on his face. As much as you hated the sad smiles you saw when he thought you weren’t looking, this is way worse.

You have no idea why he’s upset or what you could possibly do to fix it but you know that you have to do something. You’re down the stairs in half a second and you call his name.

Surprise flickers across his face momentarily as he meets your eyes, but immediately it’s replaced with a grin. “Hey there,” he says, and his voice is so deliberately even. “Did you get bonely without me?”

“Don’t,” you whisper, standing only inches away from him in front of the couch. “Don’t do that.” For the first time since you met him, you don’t even crack a smile at the pun.

He looks away from you, uncomfortable. “Do what? You got a bone to pick with me?”

“Sans, I’m serious.” You move to stand in his line of sight so that he can’t not look at you, but he just shifts his gaze again. “Don’t pretend you’re okay if you’re not.”

“I’m patelling you I’m fine.”

“Sans, _please_. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you really think I can’t tell that something’s bothering you?” You reach out and touch his cheek, rubbing your thumb in circles over the bone. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but plastering a smile on your face all the time can’t be healthy.”

His smile falters, just barely. “Look, there’s nothing you could do anyway. Just forget about it. It’s better if everybody forgets about it.”

You feel something burn inside you and it settles in your chest. You’re upset that he apparently trusts you enough to fuck you twice and keep you in his bed, but not enough tell you how he’s really feeling. It hurts, but you squash the feeling down anyway. He’s right, there probably isn’t anything you can do to help. Besides, you’ve known since you met him that he’s a secretive person. You shouldn’t be surprised about this.

You pull your hand away from his face and fidget nervously. “Do you want me to leave?” you ask. You figure he probably wants to be alone.

“What? No,” he says, and his brow scrunches slightly. “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” you reply, honestly.

He’s still and silent for a minute, just gazing at you. You’ve noticed he does that sometimes – just stares, like he’s trying to figure something out, like you’re some big mystery. It’s a little unnerving. You look at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes.

He stands up and pulls you towards him, one hand on the small of your back and the other at your wrist, thumb running over the spot where he can feel the bone through your skin. His face is close to yours but he’s not looking at you anymore, not really, instead staring straight through you and off into the distance. It’s like you aren’t even there.

He says, “When I touch you, it feels like I’m taking something I don’t deserve. Something I shouldn’t be allowed to have.”

That fire inside your chest is back, threatening to burn up your lungs and flare out your throat. You’re mad, you’re so _angry_ that he would talk about himself like this, that he would put you up on a pedestal and put himself down on the ground beneath you.

“Sans,” you start, and you shake his hand off your wrist so you can grab his head with both hands, your thumbs brushing against the zygomatic arch on either side of his head. “I’m not a thing. I’m a person. And I’m the only one who gets to decide if you’re worthy of me or not.”

His shoulders move up and down as though he’s taking a deep breath. “So? What’s the verdict?” he asks, peering into your eyes, as though he genuinely doesn’t know the answer.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You think I would still be here if I didn’t want to be?”

His grin widens a little and looks a little more real. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. He says, “No, I guess not.”

You kiss him.

It’s a real kiss this time, not like the pecks you’ve been peppering over his bones before. You close your eyes and tilt your head slightly – even though he’s got no nose for your own to bump into – and plant your lips directly over his teeth. It’s a little strange since he has no lips but he doesn’t seem to mind, and eagerly presses his mouth against yours. His arms are around you with his hands clasped at your waist.

When you start to move away, he pulls you back in, evidently not finished with you. He nuzzles his teeth against your lips, trying to get you to kiss him properly again, but it feels odd and you’ve started laughing at the sensation.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, lowly, and you’re afraid you’ve upset him until you look into his eyes and see that his smile is still genuine.

You let out a few more happy giggles and say, “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? Are you telling me a _fib_ ula?”

You snort loudly and unattractively, but he’s looking at you like you’re ethereal.

It suddenly occurs to you that Sans is always making you feel good. The way he looks at you, the way he always seems hungry to touch you, the way he talks about you and praises you. Maybe you haven’t been doing enough of that for him.

Your face must have turned serious because his own face is concerned. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Instead, you push him gently back to the couch until he sits down and you climb on top of him. You brush your fingers over the back of his skull, then trail your fingertips across the superciliary arch. You run your index finger down the line of the nasal bone, brush your other hand under his jaw. You inspect little divots and imperfection in the surface of his face and hope that your expression conveys how much you love every piece of him.

It must, because his mouth has fallen slightly ajar and he’s stunned. His hands slide up inside your shirt, but you grab them lightly and press them against the back of the couch so that they’re over his head.

“No,” you say, gently, so that he doesn’t think you don’t want this, “this is about you right now.” You lean in and run your tongue up the vertebrae of his neck and whisper into the bone. “Can you keep your hands right here for me?”

Sans nods slowly and his chest rattles as though he’s breathing hard.

“Good,” you hum. “No touching me until you’re all taken care of.”

“Holy fucking shit,” he says, awestruck, and you think you’ve made your point clear.

You run your hands down the bones of his arm, slide over his elbow and across his humerus until you reach his rib cage. You place your hand there and survey him. He already looks a little undone and there’s sweat running down his forehead.

But he’s not nearly undone enough. “Do you have any idea,” you murmur as you slip your fingers between his ribs, “how interesting your body is?”

He only manages to get out some incoherent babbling. His eyes have slid shut and his grin looks relaxed even though he can’t seem to speak. It makes you smile.

“It’s so nice, being able to touch your insides like this.” You remove your hands from his ribs and brush the back of a single finger up his spine until your arm is reaching in the cavity of his chest. “I want to count your bones. I want to know every ridge on your body.” You run your fingers back down and wrap your whole fist around the last rib on either side, the ones that don’t reach all the way around to the front to connect to the sternum. He arches up in response and his eyes fly back open.

“Oh – fuck –“ he groans, haltingly, as he desperately squirms underneath you.

You rotate your fist so that your fingers slide over the bone and out of the corner of your eye you see his fingers twitching wildly from their place above his head. When you place your tongue against the tip of his sternum and slide it up, you hear him actually remove his hands from the cushion and then slam them back with a soft thump. When you grind yourself against him, you feel his pelvis weakly thrust up against yours in response.

“Please,” he begs, and you’ve never heard him sound so desperate. “Please let me touch you, I need to touch you so bad. Please.”

You grab onto the iliac crest of his pelvis and grind down again, harder. He’s slid down on the couch a bit and you’ve moved up on his body just slightly, so now your crotch is positioned just over the bone of his pubis as you slide against him. “Your bones look even better when they shake like this.”

“ _Please!_ ” His voice cracks and he’s frantic, his body arching up against yours and his legs scrabbling against the floor.

You lean in, ghosting your breath over his cheek as you feel up the ridges on his lumbar vertebrae. “Okay, touch me.”

Sans’ hands are on your body faster than you thought possible, and he immediately shoves them up your shirt so that he can rake them down your back, hard, probably leaving red marks in his wake. He grips your thighs, feels the flesh there. Your hands are only resting on his shoulders but he’s groaning and shivering, as though he’s getting off on the very act of touching you.

Suddenly, he flips you around so that you’re laying back on the couch. He pulls your pants and underwear off but just pushes your shirt so that it’s above your chest as he crawls between your legs. He nestles his body up against yours as he slides his hands over your stomach, around your back, and down to your ass, where he gives you a firm squeeze.

“That was torture, you know,” he says, and his voice is husky with want.

You smile sweetly at him and trace his clavicle. “I wanted you to be the center of attention for once. You deserve it.”

The lust drops off his face, replaced with surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously! You spend so much time making me feel good. Like I’m important. I wanted to do the same for you.”

“That’s –” he starts, and his voice cracks again, but you think it’s for a different reason this time. “Well, good job,” he finishes awkwardly.

You kiss him hard as a response, and trail more kisses all over his face as he slips a hand between your legs and between your folds to stroke lazily at your clit. You gasp and arch a little because his hands are cold, not yet warmed up by your body.

“Damn,” he says, “you’re soaked.”

“Wait, really?” You’re not surprised that you’re wet, just that you didn’t notice. You really had been wrapped up in Sans and his body.

“You sure are,” he hisses between gritted teeth, and you swear the lights in his sockets flash brighter at you for a moment. “Look.”

He raises his hand from your pussy to show you his fingers absolutely coated in your fluids. You feel your insides clench at the image of him between your legs, grinning lecherously at you. His other hand is sliding up your spine slowly when he suddenly stops.

“Hey, flip over for me.” He leans back a little so that you have room to move.

You do as he asks, shifting around so that your hands are bracing yourself on the armrest and your ass is raised slightly in the air. “Like this?”

“Nice,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. He grips your ass, spreads your cheeks and takes a long hard look at you as he hums lowly and appreciatively. You can feel your face flush in embarrassment.

“Are you gonna do anything back there, or just admire the view?”

“What’s the hurry? You looking to get bum rushed?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” You say it sarcastically but you’re grinning.

“You loved it,” he says, and suddenly his cock is there and pressing at your entrance.

You moan as he enters you. The texture of it feels just as alien as the first time but still not in a bad way. It slides in much easier than before and very quickly it’s pressing up deep inside you. Sans pulls out slowly and then thrusts back in, sharp and fast, and you pitch forward with a gasp.

“Sans,” you whine, and his head falls in between your shoulder blades.

“Shit,” he whispers, “say that again.”

“ _Sans_ ,” you groan, insistently, and suddenly he’s ramming into you at full force. His hands are back on your spine and he’s tracing the shapes of the vertebrae, sliding up to your shoulders, where he traces the shape of your scapula, too.

“Oh, fuck, so good,” he rasps behind you. He reaches around to feel at your clit, rubs until you’re arching back into him and meeting his thrusts. His other hand goes to your sternum, and he presses you against him. You can feel his ribs on your back and his bony cheek on your spine. “Fuck,” he says again, and then he starts chanting your name.

He groans it like he’s dying, like he’s never heard of a more beautiful word in his life. Your pussy clamps around his dick in response and he speeds up even more. Suddenly the angle changes so that he’s brushing up just right against a certain spot inside you and you feel yourself about to teeter over the edge.

“Sans, I’m…” you start, but you can’t finish, you’re too breathless and he’s fucking you too hard for you to think of the right words.

“Cum,” he says, his mouth moving against your back, and miraculously, you do.

You keen loudly and push back to meet his pelvis, shuddering as you’re rocked hard by your orgasm. He cradles you in one arm. The hand rubbing your clit slows but keeps moving until you’re boneless beneath him.

He rights himself so that he’s not pressing his whole body to yours anymore, but continues thrusting. You can feel yourself continuing to rhythmically clench around him as he grows erratic and starts saying your name again. His hands are moving up and down your spine again, first with a single phalange and then with his whole hand, the bumpy carpals near his wrist persistent against you.

He says your name one last time, tenderly, before he abruptly pulls out and grunts. His cock slides up against your ass and you feel something warm splatter against your back. He hovers over you for a second, and then suddenly the warm wetness is gone and he falls backwards with a soft noise.

“Damn,” he breathes, “how are you incredible at this every time?”

You chuckle and use the last of your energy to move yourself closer to him. You meant to lay beside him, but you only make it far enough for your head to be in line with were his stomach would be, if he had one. “I could say the same to you.”

He scoots down to meet you so that he can rest his forehead against yours. His eye sockets are shut and he’s smiling. Not grinning. Just smiling, sincere and happy and content. The two of you lay there for a moment, quiet, not holding each other, but comfortably close with bodies touching.

You realize something and wrinkle your nose. “Ugh. Gross. I came down here in the first place to ask if I could use your shower and instead you just made me even more disgusting and sweaty.”

He laughs and pats your hip slowly. “You’re pretty even when you’re disgusting and sweaty.”

“Great, and now I’m covered in all your sap, too.”

“Come on,” he says between laughs and sitting up. “Let’s shower together. You know, to save water.”

You have the distinct feeling you’ll end up wasting more water if you’re together, but you agree anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

You’re not in the shower long before Sans’ hands are on you again.

He touched you all the way to the bathroom – just little, light brushes over your back or butt or down your arm – but he’s grabbing you in earnest now, like he can’t get enough. He keeps pressing his mouth against your neck and shoulders like he’s trying to kiss you.

His bones feel different with water running over them. They’re slicker and your fingers glide across the surface more smoothly. You’re just as desperate to touch him as he is to touch you.

You slide your fingers across the ridge of his hipbones, finally completely unimpeded by his shorts, and then brush across to the pubis. There are so many interesting bumps and shapes there and it occurs to you that you’d really like a closer look.

You push him gently against the wall, mostly out of the water’s spray, and get down on your knees. The tile underneath you is cold and hard. This is probably going to be hell on your joints in a few minutes but you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes line up with the holes in the sacrum and you finger the holes next to the ischium.  

When you glance up, he’s staring down at you curiously. “What are you doing down there? Looking for my _cock-_ cyx?”

You giggle and lean forward to lick up the line of the pubic symphysis. “Maybe,” you reply coyly.

He grunts in response and leans his shoulders back against the wall. “Shit,” he mumbles softly, and fists one hand in your hair.

You repeat the motion, stopping to tongue the bumps on either side of the top of the pubis. You use one hand to grip his femur for support, and the other reaches under his pubis to clench around his actual coccyx.

He groans, low and drawn-out, and says, “T-that’s new.”

“Oh?” you tease. “No one’s ever done this to you before?” You slide your hand up and down the ridges of his tailbone.

“No,” he chokes out, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re feeling up probably the weirdest-looking part of me right now. People usually don’t want to get up close and personal with it.”

“Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, pressing your lips against the bone connecting the pubis and the flat of his ilium. The idea of Sans being intimate with someone and them rejecting any part of his body makes you a little sad. “Well, I like it.”

“G-good to know,” he says, and you can tell by the way he trembles that he’s trying very hard not to thrust forward into your touch. He’d probably break half the bones in your face if he did.

You lean back again and brush your thumb against the middle of his pubic bone. “Sans, can you…” you trail off and raise your eyebrows. You’re not really sure how to ask him to whip out his magic blue dick without sounding silly.

“Oh,” he says, and suddenly there’s blue swirling in front of your face and swelling outwards from his bone.

You take the opportunity to really inspect his cock for the first time. It fades out just before his bone, disappearing into nothing. The surface is smooth and cool as you wrap your hand around it. Something about it doesn’t feel quite real, like you’re just grabbing exceptionally hard air.

You run your tongue up the underside of his dick and pop the tip into your mouth when you reach the head. He grunts and thrusts forwards haltingly.

“S-sorry, I just –“ he cuts off when he looks down at you, and you’re looking up at him with your lips around his cock and pupils probably blown wide. His jaw hangs open slightly and the lights in his sockets have gone out.

You try not to smirk and take his cock as deep into your mouth as it’ll go. It hits the back of your throat and you keep it there for a moment, salivating, your fingers brushing over the great trochanter of his left femur encouragingly. He shudders, hard, and the hand in your hair grips tighter as the other one slams against the wall behind him in a clenched fist.

“Shit, shit,” he says, frantically, “shit, you’re so fucking hot, it feels so fucking good, please…”

Mercifully, you decide to start bobbing your head on his dick. You can’t take it all the way to the back of your mouth every time, but you can still take a pretty good length of it. You stroke what you can’t fit with your free hand, the other still rubbing circles near the joint of his leg.

His face is twisted up, obviously concentrating and trying to hold himself back, but his grin looks absolutely ecstatic. “You – damn, you’re actually –“ he hisses between his teeth, “- really into this, huh?”

You definitely are, and you decide to give him a little bit of a show since he can’t seem to tear his gaze off of you. You pull back, opening your mouth and letting the head of his cock rest on your tongue while you work the rest of him with your hand. His whole dick is slick with your spit. You look up at him and watch as his chest heaves like he’s taking a ragged breath. He’s tense, waiting for your next trick.

“Your mouth is so fucking sexy,” Sans whispers, completely awestruck.

You quickly wrap your lips back around him and slam his cock down your throat as far as you can, then start bobbing again. You press your tongue firmly on the underside of the shaft as you suck. He slams his fist two more times against the wall and chokes out a sob.

Not three more bobs of your head later, he’s saying, “Wait, babe, hold on, I’m –“ and then stops short as he cums hard down your throat. You choke at first, but after taking a deep breath through your nose you manage to swallow thickly. You remove your mouth with an obscene slurping noise as he groans. Immediately after, his dick dissipates.

You stand back up, ignoring the way your legs wobble beneath you from kneeling on the hard tile for so long. His legs seem just as weak, and he slouches more against the wall. His face looks totally blissful.

“Good?” you prompt him, running your fingers up his rib cage and pressing a kiss to the frontal bone of his skull.

“Mmm,” Sans practically purrs, placing his hands on your hips. “Do you really even need to ask?” Then he looks you up and down, slowly, like he’s seeing you nude for the first time all over again.

Then he’s on you, one hand squeezing your ass, the other feeling up your spine. His head buries in your neck and you feel him pressing his pelvis against yours. He flips you around so that you’re the one against the wall. One hand slides around to your front, running over your stomach and down to your pussy, where he slips his phalanges between your folds.

He presses his forehead against yours. You didn’t think his sockets could get any darker once the light inside went out, but it feels like they have. “Sopping wet again, huh?” he says, his voice deep and husky.

Two fingers dip inside of you before quickly pulling back out. “You’re always so warm, too.”

He slams his phalanges back in, and you gasp loudly. “But I’m not stopping until you’re burning up.”

He gets down on his knees and nudges your legs further apart. You oblige, and flush deeply when he spreads your lower lips and inspects you closely.

“How come you always do that?” you ask.

“Do what?” he replies, leaning in even closer.

“You always just stop and look at me like this.”

“It’s because you’re beautiful,” he says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. He beams a genuine smile up at you and you feel something flutter in your chest.

You grin warmly back at him and say, “I love it when you really smile like this.”

His cheekbones color slightly and he splutters. He dishes compliments out so freely but he never knows how to take them.

Instead of replying, he presses his fingers back inside you, working you slowly. He keeps that speed for a while, until you start wiggling your hips, trying to get him to quicken his pace. He places his other hand your stomach and presses you against the wall to still you.

“Hey. Let me know if this freaks you out, okay?” He looks up at you, hesitantly, preparing to gauge your reactions. He opens his mouth with a soft creak and that blue light is back in one eye. Something blue and bright slides out between his teeth, and at first glance you think it’s a tongue, but when you blink and look again you realize it’s more like a tentacle.

“Woah,” you gasp, and eagerly try to thrust your crotch towards it.

His laugh is so low it practically sounds like thunder. “You’ve taken everything I’ve offered you. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re enthusiastic about this, too.”

He leans forward again, and the tendril presses up against you, moving in ripples against your clit. You moan and scramble for something to grip onto on the wall behind you, but there’s nothing there. He slides his fingers out of you and quickly replaces them with the tentacle. It thrusts in increments inside you, coiling and uncoiling. It feels completely alien, but the way it presses against your walls is so good.

“Oh my god, Sans,” you manage between heavy breaths.

He chuckles again and spreads your lips with his hands to give himself better access. You writhe against him as he increases his pace, the tendril bottoming out inside you and massaging your clit. When you look down you see his face millimeters away from touching you, and he’s alternatively looking at your face and then your crotch with a wide grin of appreciation.

Suddenly, he moves even closer, burying his face in your pussy. You can feel the slightly sharp edge of his nasal bone bump up against your pubic area, and his smooth cheeks press at your thighs. His eyes lid softly and you see his shoulders move as though he’s breathing deeply. The tendril increases its speed, pulling out of you entirely before thrusting back in and curling inside you.

When Sans groans deeply, as though he’s in a stupor just from having his head between your legs, you suddenly can’t hold on anymore. You clench tight around the coil in your pussy as you cum. With a strangled noise, you grip onto the back of his skull with one hand and press his face further against you, grinding yourself roughly onto him as you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

As you’re coming down from the high, you realize what you’ve done and quickly let go of him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you babble, mortified. He pulls the tendril out of you and it disappears, and you slide down the wall to sit with him on the tile of the shower floor.

Sans, meanwhile, looks completely enraptured, your wetness smeared all around his mouth. His eyes are still lidded and his grin is lazy and self-satisfied. “You’re kidding, right? That was great.”

You laugh, relieved, and cup his jaw in your hands while you plant kisses all over his face. “Listen,” you say, still panting. “We have to actually get clean now. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Haha, ri _dick_ ulous,” he says.

You cuff him lightly on the shoulder, smile, and tell him to help you scrub your back.

* * *

You and Sans get half-dressed after your shower and shuffle down the hall, his fingers laced with yours. You crawl into his bed, where you curl up into his side and he puts his arms around you. Neither of you say anything, but you feel comfortable and safe here with him. You decide that this is exactly where you belong.

His hands start to fidget on your back and his jaw is moving like he’s about to try to speak but doesn’t know where to start.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sleepily.

“You said you’re the only one who gets to decide if you stay with me or not,” he says, slowly, carefully, “but what if that’s not true?”

You pull back, suddenly wide awake, and look at him. He’s not smiling, not grinning, and his face just looks flat and blank. You feel your eyebrows start to scrunch up. “What are you talking about? Are you saying you don’t want me?” Your voice cracks.

Sans doesn’t even flinch. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about something else, something neither of us can control. If some cosmic force rips you away from me, what happens then?”

You calm down a little, but you’re still confused. “What, you mean like fate or something?”

“Yeah, like fate. Or something.”

“Then…” you say, nuzzling back up to his chest. “Then… I’ll do whatever it takes to get back to you.”

“What if you don’t remember me?”

“Why would I not remember you?”

“Just humor me,” he says, and he sounds so strained. So lost.

“If I don’t remember you, then I guess… I guess you have to find me and remind me.”

“I can’t do this again. I can’t do this  _every time_ ,” he mutters, and heaves a violent sob.

“Woah, hey,” you say softly, and you stroke his scapula reassuringly. “It’s okay. I don’t really understand what you’re talking about, but it’s gonna be okay.”

“What if the next time you hate me again?” he asks, fat tears rolling out of his sockets and falling on the mattress. “What if you just leave? What if I watch you die again and there’s nothing I can do? What if you stay and I fall in love with you  _again_  and it gets erased over and over?” He’s shaking, clutching your shirt and looking into your eyes like he’s hoping the answers are there, but you don’t have any. “Every time it feels like it’s finished, like I finally got to the ending, it resets. I can’t go back to having nothing with you now that I’ve gotten this close.”

You still don’t get what he’s babbling about, but you desperately want him to trust you. You caress his cheek gently. “I’m not leaving, Sans,” you reassure him. “I’m staying right here with you and I’m not going to forget anything. I could never forget you. I love you.” You don’t realize it’s true until you say it out loud.

You always just seem to be saying things instinctively with Sans. It’s like you’ve been here with him before, like you’ve always had these feelings and the muscle memory of forming the words with your mouth is there even if your brain is trailing behind.

He shakes for a little longer before he seems to calm down. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, yeah.”

You still don’t know if he really believes you but he’s starting to look sleepy again. Maybe it’s better if the two of you talk more about this in the morning.

You snuggle up against him and his hands stop gripping your clothes so tight. He buries his face in your hair. Faintly, you hear him whispering to you as you fall asleep.

“You’re just a little bit different every time I meet you. Every time I learn something new, see a different part of you. I tell myself to keep my distance but you just keep doing things that make me fall for you. You smile in a way that reminds me of something you did twenty timelines ago. You laugh at a joke even though I’ve already told you it before. You fix your hair in a certain way, you run your fingers across my bones just right, you always… always…”

* * *

When you wake up, you find that you’re safely nestled in a bed of yellow flowers.

You try to remember where you are. You fell down a hole, and then… nothing. You feel like something else happened after that, a lot of things, but you can’t seem to remember them.

You pick yourself up and dust yourself off. The ceiling is so far above you that the hole you fell through is just a prick of light in the distance, so you’re not getting back out the way you came in, that’s for sure. You resign yourself to having to trudge through the strange ruins and look for another exit.

You try to ignore the panicked feeling in the back of your mind. This place doesn’t seem dangerous, and it’s not like you were doing anything important before you fell. There’s no rush. You’re sure you can find your way out. So why does it feel like there’s somewhere you’re supposed to be right now?

* * *

After some time, and a sad and uncomfortable encounter with the kindly goat woman who begged you to stay, you’ve finally made it out.

Well, you’ve made it out of the ruins, anyway. There’s snow and trees here that look very familiar, but there’s still only rocks above your head instead of sky. You suppose it’s progress, at least, but you still feel very on edge.

As you make your way through the woods, you hear a snapping sound behind you. You whip around quickly, but there’s nothing there. Dread settles deep in the pit of your stomach. Something is wrong.

You turn around slowly and keep walking, anxiously checking your surroundings. The next time you glance behind you, you swear you see something move between the trees, but you tell yourself it was probably nothing and  _definitely_  not a creature looking to kill you. You’re being silly. None of the monsters in the ruins were really out to get you and there’s no reason why the monsters out here would be any different.

You come across an unmanned outpost eventually. When you peer in, you can see ketchup, mustard and relish containers littering the ground. There’s a lamp sitting off to the side, not plugged into anything, just there. It’s weird, but not scary, and you start to feel better. It’s hard to imagine a big, dangerous monster standing around at an outpost and eating condiments all day.

“It’s pretty rude to poke around someone else’s stuff, you know.”

You jump at the voice and turn sharply, falling back and bracing yourself on the counter of the outpost.

As soon as you see the short, stocky skeleton standing a few feet behind you, the fear falls away. There’s no logical explanation for it – you don’t know this guy, and furthermore, he’s a skeleton and that’s a little creepy – but you instantly feel safer. You stand up straight again and move towards him.

“Hey,” he says, and he looks a little uneasy despite the grin on his face, “don’t you know not to get close to strange skeletons? You trying  _tibia_  tough guy?”

You smile at the pun and keep walking towards him. He takes a step back.

As you get closer, you notice that his grin seems off somehow. Like it’s stapled right onto his face, instead of being genuine. It reminds you of something you forgot.

You’re close enough now that you could kiss him. Instead, you grasp either side of his face in your hands and look at the tiny lights in his sockets. It feels like the gears in your brain are finally clicking into the right places.

“What –“ he begins, but you cut him off.

“Smile for real. Like you did before,” you say.

He stares at you for a long while and then laughs, happy and loud and hysterical, and you feel like this time around, things might be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here it is...... baby's first completed multichapter fanfic...... thank you everyone for being so supportive!!


	5. bonus chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was going to call this fic done, but i hit 1k followers on tumblr and people voted to have a bonus chapter about sans falling in love through the timelines, so here we are folks.  
> i also accidentally made it the longest chapter. OOOOOOPSIE

Sans doesn’t remember the first time he met you. After the first few dozen resets, they started to all run together, the memories of specific timelines overlapping and blurring. He’s counted the number of times he’s had to start over, but his recollections are all shattered and he can’t seem to piece the fragments together anymore. Instead he sorts them into big jars, labeled with wide categories like “recent” or “long ago” or “don’t think about it.” **  
**

He does, however, remember one of the early ones pretty clearly. You looked small and scared, curled in on yourself from the cold, but there was ash clinging to your clothes and he was sure this would be one of the timelines where you were just a little more ruthless, a little more willing to hurt someone to get home.

He was always wary of you, even when you didn’t have monster remains clinging to your light jacket. You were a wildcard, and he could never quite predict you well enough.

He’d never seen you come out of the ruins with ash on your clothes before, though.

He crept up behind you, extended a hand. You turned around and took it. A fart noise echoed in the forest. Just like it always.

Except this time, instead of laughing or looking blankly at him, you started crying.

“Hey, hold on, it’s just a prank!” he exclaimed, loudly, before he realized probably shouldn’t raise his voice if he wanted you to calm down.

Your shoulders were shaking either from the effort of trying to hold in sobs or from the cold, but he wasn’t sure which. “I didn’t mean to,” you wailed, “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to!”

He tried to get more out of you, tried to understand, but you were completely inconsolable. Instead, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around you, then led you to his outpost.

Papyrus showed up not long after, and his excitement at seeing a human was remarkably short-lived when said human was bawling loudly. By now, a few tears had even frozen on your cheeks. You were a mess.

In the end, it was actually Papyrus’ relentless questions that got you to say anything else about what happened in the ruins.

“I just wanted to go home,” you said, quietly, distantly, after you’d stopped crying. You didn’t speak about it again after that.

Later, when Sans sat outside the ruins’ door and cracked jokes to the silent forest around him, he understood, and he felt something begin to shatter inside of him.

* * *

 

Over the resets, Sans realized that it isn’t that you’re a wild card at all. It’s just that every time the cycle starts anew, you have different experiences and emotions driving you. A single grain in the sands of time flowed in a different path and started a chain reaction that fundamentally altered both your own choices and the choices of those around you. He wasn’t seeing a different person every time, just a different side of same one.

One time, you were especially fond of the armless monster kid. You carried them around on your shoulders. You encouraged their love of Undyne even though you knew she was out to kill you. You cracked silly jokes, asked questions, listened to them babble. As Sans watched the two of you stroll through the dripping water, huddled under an umbrella and smiling, he felt something tug at his sternum.

Another time, you stayed particularly long at Alphys’ lab and curiously poked around the various equipment. You inspected the figurines and the posters, chuckled when you saw something ridiculous. You noticed some diagrams and blueprints stuffed in a corner, pulled them out, and spent at least an hour looking at them. He didn’t know if you understood what the lines and formulas meant, but you looked enthralled, and he shook with some indescribable emotion.

Once, you had a lot of extra coins and space in your pockets, so you’d bought a lot of hot dogs from him in Hotland. When he made a quip about how much you liked hot animals, you laughed, and kept asking for more. When you ran out of places to put them, he just placed it on your head, free of charge. You kept asking, he kept stacking, until there were twenty-something wieners stacked on your head and he cut you off because you were already having a hard time not letting your laughter topple them all over. After you left he clutched at his skull and felt like it might collapse from the pounding in his head.

For a long time he refused to let himself trust you or care about you. But now it was getting harder to avoid joking with you in earnest, harder to stay in the shadows when you got into a tight spot. It was harder to say goodbye when you left, even though he knew you’d be emerging from the ruins again the next day. There was a lightness in you that he wasn’t sure you recognized in yourself. He was opening up to you, but he fought it the whole way.

He didn’t know at the time that he never stood a chance. You were magnetic, pulling at his bones and his mind, and he didn’t realize it until he was already too close and he couldn’t break free anymore.

* * *

 

You usually do your best to resolve conflict peacefully, but sometimes you make mistakes. He realizes now that he can’t really fault you for it. You’re not a bad person, you’re just lost and often scared. Anyone would be if they were in your shoes.

But he didn’t always realize that, and even though he felt himself warming up to you, he still got mad when it felt like you should have tried more. You’d done this so many times, so why were you still making mistakes?

He forgot that only  _he_  saw the mistakes being made over and over.

He was too cruel, once. Too harsh and too threatening at the restaurant in the MTT Hotel. He let himself get angry, and the words spilt out of his mouth like fire before he even had time to process what he was saying.

You looked at him with hate in your eyes as you stood up and slammed the palms of your hands on the table.

“Enough!” you hissed through clenched teeth. “I know I’ve messed up. I’ve done horrible, awful things. But I’m trying to make up for them, and just because I screwed up before doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m a petulant child, or threaten me like you’re a gang member.  _Fuck you_ , Sans.”

You left hastily, apologizing to the wait staff for your outburst before rushing out the door.

Sans realized at that moment that even though he’d seen you kill monsters before, you never did it out of malice. The face you made when you couldn’t escape Undyne’s attacks and decided to fight back, the look in your eyes when you were trapped by Mettaton and panicked during his onslaught – it’s not hatred. He knows that now because saw the contempt and distaste when you looked at him.

You hated him, he realized, and it shattered him again, his pieces scattered on the floor and threatening to scrape up his bones.

He was relieved the next time the cycle started anew.

* * *

 

You stayed in Snowdin only once.

You always got along pretty well with Papyrus, but there was something about this cycle that had made you two the best of pals. By extension, Sans ended up unusually friendly with you, too. He spent more time with you, followed you more openly instead of hiding himself in the shadows, cracked a few more jokes. You told more of your own in response and the two of you ended up spending longer in Grillby’s than he intended.

“Ah, shit,” he said when he realized how long he’d been wasting time with you. “I gotta get back to my post.”

“Oh, sorry for keeping you,” you apologized, standing up with him and preparing to leave. “Want me to walk with you?”

“Sure,” he said.

He didn’t take the “shortcut” back. He told himself it was just because you’d looked queasy after the last time, but if he was honest with himself, it was because he wanted the extra time with you. He rarely allowed himself to get this close, because he felt his affection for you festering in his bones with every passing timeline, but it was probably too late to avoid by this point. You were too cute, too good-natured, and you laughed at his jokes too much.

When you reached Waterfall and he took his regular place at his outpost, you stood there for a long moment, staring ahead into the caves, towards your destination. Then you looked at him, smiled, and turned around and headed right back to Snowdin.

He watched you leave and desperately tried to squash the feeling of hope.

You usually had enough pocket change to afford a room at the inn, but when you didn’t, Sans and Papyrus were more than happy to let you crash on their couch. Papyrus was always glad for the extra company. Sans was just relieved that you were here, and safe, and he could continue to keep an eye on you. The fact that the two of you were close in this timeline - that was just an added bonus. Keeping you a secret from Undyne wasn’t easy and probably impossible in the long term, but for now it was working, and he wasn’t about to give you up.

But there was no long term to worry about. After three days, Sans woke up, went downstairs, and you weren’t on their couch anymore. Papyrus didn’t mention you at all, and he was always talking about you before. You were gone. Your friendship, your smile, the casual touches you’d become comfortable giving him. It was all gone.

You came out of the ruins again and looked at him with fear in your eyes. Everything he had was shattered on the floor, more sharp shards than ever, and now he didn’t even have anything to keep them in.

* * *

 

Sans knew that you were pretty strong. You could fight back hard and take a few punches. But a few times, you were weak.

You fractured your arm in the ruins. It slowed you down considerably and made it difficult for you to defend yourself. Papyrus had been able to capture you twice before he finally allowed you to pass through. Sans tried to get you to stay in Snowdin, but you insisted that you needed to keep moving.

“I have to get to a doctor. A  _human_  doctor,” you said.

He kept an extra close eye on you as you made your way through Waterfall. If he had breath, he would have held it every time you encountered Undyne. Eventually, you ended up at the entrance to Hotland, and Undyne was blocking your way so that you couldn’t escape anymore.

You’d made it through this fight before, many times, but never with an injured arm. He watched you struggle to dodge the spears and you had to fight through the pain shooting through your hand and up to your shoulder.

When Undyne attacked you directly, rushing forward with a spear in her hand, you didn’t stand a chance. You tried to block with your injured arm – stupid, he thought, stupid, why would you  _do_  that? – and Sans closed his eyes and looked away when he heard the sick noise of flesh tearing and bone snapping.

You screamed, and Undyne hesitated, just for a moment, before she shoved her spear through your chest.

He looked, and immediately wished that he hadn’t.

For at least a dozen timelines afterwards, every time he looked at you he saw the phantom image of that gaping hole in your chest, your face contorted into an accusatory glare. Why didn’t he help you? He could have saved you. He could have stopped it.

Then he would blink and you’d be smiling again, laughing at a bad bone pun.

* * *

 

It’s late.

You’re warm in Sans’ arms, curled up in his bed, laying side by side together. You’re in your underwear and one of his t-shirts and he’s wearing only his shorts, but frankly it’s remarkable that both of you are wearing anything. You usually end up nude when you’re in bed with him, because he always wants to see you, touch you, feel your skin against his bones.

Right now, though, he’s looking over you, off into the distance somewhere, his forehead all bunched up.

“What’s up?” you ask, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone.

“Just thinking,” he says, absently.

“About what?”

He doesn’t answer, instead continues staring at nothing, his mind somewhere else. You run your fingers down his spine and over the iliac spine of his pelvis, trying to bring him back to your world. He shakes his head as though he’s clearing it out like an Etch-a-Sketch, then finally looks at you.

“It’s nothing you need to be worried about,” he says.

“Hey,” you say, with a slightly scolding tone. “We said we were going to figure this out together. I remember. I understand what’s been happening now… kind of. You’re not alone.”

“I know,” he mutters as you press your lips to his chin, and then underneath his jaw. “It’s just stuff that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“We can still talk about it, if you want to. I’ll be a good listener.”

He huffs out a laugh and pulls you in closer to him so that your hips are brushing up against his bony ones, and your legs are hopelessly tangled together. “Nah. I appreciate the offer but I think I’d rather bump bones with you instead.”

“Oooh,” you cry out, dramatic and coquettish, “how romantic!”

He chuckles again and nuzzles his mouth against your cheek in a mock kiss. He’s been increasingly affectionate these past few days since you walked out of the ruins and remembered who he was. He’s finally starting to feel safe with you. You grip his face lightly so you can plant a long kiss on his mouth.

When you pull back, he still looks a little sad. You meet his eyes and raise your eyebrows questioningly.

“I wish I could kiss you better,” he says softly.

You hum thoughtfully for a moment, but then you’re hit with inspiration. “How about this?” you ask, and then you grin wide so that your teeth are showing and gently press yours against his with a soft _clink_  sound. “It’s a skeleton kiss,” you explain when you pull back.

He stares at you blankly for a moment before rupturing into chuckles again. He rolls you onto your back and hovers over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand is on your neck, feeling for your pulse. He doesn’t find it until he stops shaking with laughter and looks for it in earnest. He places his palm over it and keeps it there, listening to your breathing as your heartbeat presses into his hand.

You asked him once why he does this. He said it grounds him, being able to feel how alive you are.

“Hey, bone boy,” you tease, “are you going to rattle my bones or what?”

He grins a little wider, suddenly looking nervous. “Actually,” he says, “I was hoping I could just touch you.”

“Oh,” you breathe, and the way he looks reverently at you knocks the air out of your lungs. “That’s, um, yeah. Sure. Okay.”

The nervousness leaves his face once he has your permission, and he moves so that he’s between your legs, still leaning over you. He rakes his fingers gently down your sides, slides one bony hand under a thigh and the other back up to your chest, where he pushes your shirt up to your neck. He runs his fingertips, barely touching, up and down your thigh as he rolls a nipple between his thumb and index finger.

You arch into his touch and hook your fingers into his ribs with one hand. You’re breathing heavily and he’s only just started.

He nuzzles his face into your chest and playfully nips at your skin. Then he moves to your neck, where he scrapes his teeth across your pulse, tweaking your nipple just a little harder. You cry out, squirming beneath him, and your hands fly to his back where you grip at his scapula.

His fingers slip into your underwear, and he brushes over your outer lips teasingly. You try to buck into him, get him to touch your core, but he pulls his hand out the second you do it and cheekily narrows his eye sockets at you.

“Nuh-uh. We’re taking it slow today, babe,” he says, and slides his hand back down.

He traces around your entrance with a single finger, so lightly you can barely feel it, and you tense in response, desperately searching for some relief for your arousal. He slowly, so slowly, dips the finger between your folds, barely pressed against your entrance but not pushing in.

He rests his cheekbone on your stomach and looks up at you. “Well, look at that,” he whispers, “so wet and ready. You want this pretty badly, huh?”

“Yes,” you groan, shameless and desperate.

He slides his finger up to your clit and then back down to your entrance without giving you any real friction.

“Sans!” you hiss through gritted teeth as you try not to grind against his hand.

“Okay,” he laughs, “I guess that’s enough torture for now.” His finger slips inside you easily, and his carpels are brushing up against your clit. No matter how many times he does this, the texture of his bones and the way he feels around inside you drives you into a frenzy.

“Please,” you beg, rolling your hips in an attempt to get more stimulation.

His grin looks incredibly satisfied as he pushes another finger into you, and then a third, stretching you gently. The thumb of his other hand brushes against your nipple, circling it and then moving directly over the nub. “You’re gorgeous. I’m so lucky.”

He begins to thrust his fingers inside of you, slow and deliberate, and you can feel the bumps of the joints in his phalanges as he slides out and back in. You keen and clutch at the sheets beneath you. “Please,” you say again, but that’s all you can manage.

He grinds his palm against your clit and moves his fingers a little faster. “Please… what?” His free hand moves to your throat again, his fingers curled around it, and you know he can feel your pulse fluttering wildly. He seems to lose himself just a little, his eyes lidding and his fingers slamming into you rougher than before. “Tell me. Tell me what you want.” He lightly squeezes the hand around your throat, but not enough to make your breathing difficult. You can tell he’s trying to feel your heartbeat better. “C’mon. I wanna hear you say it.”

You attempt to speak, but nothing comes out of your mouth except garbled sounds, and suddenly the pressure of his carpals on your clit and his fingers hooking inside of you are too much. The edges of your vision go white as you arch off the bed, your body shuddering hard from your orgasm. It seems like an age before you finally come down and melt bonelessly into the mattress.

Distantly, you feel the hand at your throat move away. The hand in your underwear moves to the small of your back. An arm curls around you and your torso is being lifted. Sans is holding you, cradling you against him. You rest your head against his clavicle as you attempt to blink away the post-orgasm haze.

“Sorry,” you mumble, realizing that you hadn’t managed to tell him what you wanted.

“No,” he says, and when you look at him you don’t see a single trace of disappointment on his face. “You were so great. I love watching you cum.”

You finger his sternum, trace the lines of his ribs. There was once a time where the idea of touching a skeleton like this was strange to you. Now, he’s just Sans, and nothing in the world seems more natural. “You’re beautiful,” you tell him.

He snorts, like you’ve just told a joke.

“I’m serious,” you say, and you wrap your hand lightly around the spines that comprise his neck. There’s no pulse, of course, but you sometimes feel like there’s something else there. Something thrumming just under the marrow, something like magic, or maybe the very essence of his life. “You’re beautiful and I love you.”

His face softens. You look at the lights deep in his socket and they’re searching your face, looking for something to betray your deception. But they find nothing, because there’s nothing to find, and he relents.

He does this every time you tell him you love him. He’s not used to it yet. He’s not very good at saying it back, either, but you let it slide because you know that he does and he’s still learning how to be open and honest with you.

Instead of letting him mull about it forever, you kiss him and wrap your legs around his waist. You feel down the ridges of his spine with one hand and slip the other inside his ribcage to touch the back of his sternum. He squirms, restless under your touch, and you can tell he’s still turned on. He’s holding back for some reason, but you know how to make him break.

You run your tongue over his clavicle, tracing it up to his shoulder, and immediately he’s pressing your back into the mattress again, clutching your hips and rubbing his pelvis against you. You roll your hips to meet him, encourage him.

“Fuck,” he says, “you want more?”

You grin and nod eagerly.

Sans meets your eyes, and he looks unusually intense and serious. “I’ll give you as much as you want.”

He removes your legs from around him so that he can take your underwear off, only bothers to get one leg through the hole before he’s pulling your shirt over your head. He pushes his own shorts down, spreads your legs wide, and then grinds the line of his pubis symphysis against your pussy.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, “you’re so warm and so wet. It feels so fucking good, it feels  _so_  good…”

The friction against your cunt feels nice, but it isn’t enough. “Sans, please, I want you inside me.”

He curses again and pulls back, and you feel the magic in the air as he concentrates. You can’t see it from your position, but you feel the smooth surface of his cock as he presses against you. It slips in easily, then he stills. He uses one hand to brace himself on the bed, and the other searches for yours. He finds it clutching at the sheets, but he loosens your grip and slides his fingers between yours instead. He moves both his hand and yours to rest beside your head and keeps them there.

Then he’s thrusting into you, hard and frantic. He rests the frontal bone of his skull on your shoulder. You run your fingers over his back and squeeze his hand tight. When he’s deep inside of you, his pubis symphysis brushes up against your clit, and occasionally he stops to grind it against you.

Sans starts panting your name and you clamp down around him. He groans low and deep, then rams his dick into you so hard and so fiercely that you think he might shatter under the effort. He shudders and you can tell he’s close.

“I love you,” you remind him.

He instantly comes apart at the seams, shaking and babbling, “I love you too, I love you so much, I’ve loved you for -” he stops, quakes violently, something warm and wet fills you and his hand flies to your clit as he pounds into you a few more times, and it’s sloppy but it feel so good and you arch and cum with him - “I’ve loved you for  _so long_.”

He collapses on top of you, exhausted and sleepy in the afterglow. He dissipates inside you and the two of you stay like that for a moment. His bones are poking you uncomfortably, but you can’t really bring yourself to care.

Eventually he rolls off you, and you curl up to him again. Your limbs tangle with his, two sets of hands touching and prodding and smoothing over skin and bone. You whisper praise into his sternum and he mumbles drowsy “I love you”s into your hair.

You and Sans fall asleep like that, hopelessly bound together.

Sans is still, in a lot of ways, broken. He’s still shattered and desperately trying to repair himself. But you’re here now, and you can see the fragments scattered across the floor. You’ll help him pick them up and put them together, no matter how many cycles it takes.


End file.
